I know there are a large number of you waiting on the next chapter of No More Words, and frankly I had planned 2 other stories that tied into that to be next here as well, but the end of CitC was not something I could ignore.

So, having stated that, on with the story.


Her grip was tight; she was more scared than she would admit, he knew that. Knew her.

And he was more relieved than he could--or possibly would ever--explain that she was there. He had gotten though being shot by holding her hand, surely now would be no different.

They wheeled him into the brightly lit operating room, the medics literally talking over his head except for the anesthesiologist. She and Bones talked to him in quiet voices, Bones translating the medical-speak and offering encouragement around the anesthesiologist's explanations.

Really, he thought as the woman started the IV, it was only that it was brain surgery that made it so scary. Anything else would be a piece of cake; he had been though worse, hadn't he? He tried to tell her so, but the anesthesia caught up with him even as he opened his mouth.

*************************************

I watched as Booth fell asleep just as he started to say something. The anesthesiologist nodded at me in what I think was meant to be a reassuring manner. "That's how it supposed to be. He probably won't even remember becoming unconscious."

I bit my lip, but nodded back at her in comprehension.

The surgeon and nurses worked around me as I sat there, clinging to Booth's hand. There was no way they could make me let go! As the operation progressed, I listened to them, alert for anything wrong or out of the ordinary, but thankfully everything seemed to be going well.

God, if there was one, had a lot to answer to in my pages. How anyone could put so good a man as Seeley Booth through this kind of hell two years running beyond me, especially not an entity supposed to be so loving, one that Booth had such faith in. "Good and faithful servant," indeed, to be treated this way! My thoughts slid away from hypothetical deities to how he looked in that bed while they were prepping him. I had never seen him so vulnerable before, and it unnerved me almost more than the surgery did. No, I should be honest. It scared me. Booth had become my own pillar of strength and continuity and the thought of him crumbling was not to be borne any more than the thought of losing him.

My hand tightened briefly on his, but relaxed immediately--I didn't want to cause any problems. I needed my Booth to come out of this whole and back to normal. Whatever normal might be. Psychology aside, normal is a relative term.

MY Booth. Yes, I said that. He was mine and I was willing to be his. Sweets had gotten it exactly right when he said I wanted a piece of Booth for my own. Well, I might not get that piece, not the one I was thinking about, but damned if I wasn't going to talk to him when he was out of the hospital. Between his getting shot last year and this tumor now, we no longer have the leisure to wait and dance about each other. We will talk, I promised him silently, and maybe, just maybe, the piece I was willing to settle for might turn into something a whole lot bigger.